


The Morning After

by ElenaCee



Category: Sherlock Holmes - Arthur Conan Doyle
Genre: Domestic Fluff, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-22
Updated: 2015-01-22
Packaged: 2018-03-08 15:41:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 840
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3214565
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ElenaCee/pseuds/ElenaCee
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It is the morning after the night before.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Morning After

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote this one-shot in early 2007, way before Downey!Sherlock and BBC!Sherlock were even conceived, and have left it as is. Cross-posted from livejournal and ff.net. I hope someone on here likes it.

On that remarkable morning in early April, I was facing Holmes across the breakfast table while trying not to move too much.

Of course, he noticed. "My dear Watson," said he, obviously in good spirits, "you appear a little the worse for wear."

"It's nothing," I demurred.

"Hum! It obviously is something," he argued, grey eyes glinting mischievously. "You are changing position but cautiously. You have been sitting without your usual fidgeting. You hardly move your head at all, and I notice a curiously shaped bruise on your neck where it meets the lobe of your ear. If I did not know my Watson better, I should think you have been in a fight." His voice conveyed amusement rather than concern.

I felt myself blush. "Well, I should not term it a fight," I said, evasively. "More a scuffle."

He attacked his bacon and eggs with a vigour I should dearly like to see more often. "Dear me, a scuffle! And on so fine a late evening as yesterday, too, or should I say night, for when you imbibed on your usual night-cap, there was no trace of it on your person. What other injuries do your clothes conceal, I wonder? Would you like me to deduce them?"

I was so charmed by his ebullience that I nodded, grinning. "Please do, Holmes." Not one to miss such favourable window of opportunity, I pushed the toast-rack towards him.

He took a piece of toast, much to my delight, and sat back from the table to survey me with all the intensity of which he was capable. My blush deepened under the scrutiny. "You forbore to shave this morning, yet I notice a curious rash upon your cheeks such as may be obtained by repeated rubbing against a rough surface."

I barely kept my face straight. "Rubbing, Holmes?"

His lips twitched, but he held on to his composure. "Quite. I also noticed how gingerly you took your seat just now, which leads me to deduce some strain or injury to your posterior."

"I cannot think how I might have come by such an injury."

"There are roughly a dozen possibilities, not counting the more extravagant ways, but I think I may be able to limit them to two or three with more data. As always, the solution lies in the observance of trifles."

I took a sip of tea. "Pray, what trifles are you observing?" My cheeks were still hot, and I was fighting back laughter.

So was he, I think, but I doubt anyone else would have been able to tell, for his voice did not waver, and he kept his usual stoic red-Indian expression. "The fact that the top button of your waistcoat is unbuttoned tells me that you are experiencing some discomfort on your chest. Going on the assumption that those four separate blemishes were obtained during the same... scuffle, which is a bit of a long shot, I'll grant you -" here I interrupted him with a wholly inappropriate guffaw, which he loftily ignored - "we are left with but one scenario." He bit into his toast and chewed thoughtfully.

I was having too much fun to stop. "Please elaborate," I dared him in-between chortles.

"As you wish. It was what some might term a frontal assault via the rear guard."

I was obliged at this point to bite the inside of my cheek in order to keep some semblance of composure.

Holmes languidly gestured with his piece of toast. "All the evidence points to the fact that you were accosted by a single man at some point between your night-cap and breakfast today. You were divested of your clothes and deposited upon your bed, whereupon, in due time, the aforementioned frontal assault took place."

"The one via the rear guard," I interrupted him, because I needed to say it.

His eyes glittered. "Quite so. He was a curious fellow, your assailant. Quite tall. Unshaven. Right-handed. Enthusiastic, and possessed of no little endurance. With a false left canine, as evidenced by the impression upon your neck, which undoubtedly stems from a human bite. The pattern is quite characteristic. I don't suppose you read my little monograph upon the subject."

I shook my head wordlessly, as I had dissolved in helpless laughter by this point.

My friend leaned back in his chair, grinning widely, his work done.

The door to our sitting-room opened after a brief knock, and Mrs Hudson looked in. "Well," she said, "I am glad to find you gentlemen in such a fine humour today, I'm sure. It makes a nice change from yesterday."

Recovering myself with an effort, I nodded at her. "I think I may finally have found a way to get Holmes out of the doldrums with no harm done to the interior of your rooms, Mrs. Hudson."

"Well, I'm glad to hear it. See that you employ it often from now on, Doctor."

I glanced at Holmes. His gentle regard warmed me like a shaft of sunlight. "You may count upon it, Mrs. Hudson."

 


End file.
